PS 3266 
.PI 
1906 
Copy 1 



^1 




m H 



SNOW'BOUND 

dA Winter Iclyl 

^ John Greenleaf Whittier ^M^^ 

with Twenty Full- Page Hlust cations Fill \W'> 

Drawings by ^ ^f '""^ 

oward, Pyle, JohnJ.Enneklna ^v^;! 



<Su) Edmund H. Garrett 

Decotratnons bt/ 

Adrian I. lorlo 



r1/ 




Boston S>iD New Yorlc 

Houghton , Mifflin cS^J? Company 

'~&he R.ivecsida Press , Camhvidpe 

1 9 o 6 




If oh 



LIBRARY nf CONGRESS 
Tw* C*»i*s Rcctived 

SEP 20 1906 

C»»yf"fn< Enuy 

CLAS|r Q. XXc, N«. 

C«PY B. 



COPYRIGHT 1S9I AND IQ06 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



^^XFo "the Memory 
The Household it Describes 

is Poem is Dedicated 



Auth 




or 




K 



Publisherir Note 




FROM its first appearance Snozv- Bound has 
been one of the most popular of American 
poems, and indeed of all poems of nature. It has 
been issued in many forms, and the continued 
demand for copies with adequate illustration has 
led the publishers to prepare the present edition. 
They count themselves fortunate in being able 
to avail themselves of the work of John J. En- 
neking, long recognized as one of our best land- 
scape painters ; of book illustrators like Howard 
Pyle and E. H. Garrett; of Herbert W. Glea- 
son, whose photographs from nature are unsur- 
passed in artistic excellence ; and of Adrian J. 
lorio, who has specially designed the cover and 
the many decorations in the volume. 
4 Park Street, Boston, 
October, 1906. 





THE inmates of the family at the Whittier 
homestead who are referred to in the 
poem were my father, mother, my brother and 
two sisters, and my uncle and aunt, both un- 
married. In addition, there was the district 
school-master who boarded with us. The *'not 
unfeared, half- welcome guest " was Harriet 
Livermore, daughter of Judge Livermore, of 
New Hampshire, a young woman of fine natural 
abilit}^ enthusiastic, eccentric, wdth slight control 
over her violent temper, which sometimes made 
her religious profession doubtful. She was 
equally ready to exhort in school-house prayer- 
meetings and dance in a Washington ball-room, 
while her father was a member of Congress. 
She early embraced the doctrine of the Second 
Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the 





Lord's speedy coming. With this message she 
crossed the Atlantic and spent the greater part 
of a long life in travelling over Europe and Asia. 
She lived some time with Lady Hester Stanhope, 
a woman as fantastic and mentally strained as 
herself, on the slope of Mt. Lebanon, but finally 
quarrelled with her in regard to two white horses 
with red marks on their backs which suggested 
the idea of saddles, on which her titled hostess 
expected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. 
A friend of mine found her, when quite an old 
woman, wandering in Syria with a tribe of Arabs, 
who, with the Oriental notion that madness is 
inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and 
leader. At the time referred to in Snozv-Boimd 
she was boarding at the Rocks Village about two 
miles from us. 

In my boyhood, in our lonely fiu^m-house, 




we had scanty sources of information ; few books 
and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only 
annual was the Almanac. Under such circum- 
stances story-telling was a necessary resource in 
the long winter evenings. My father when a 
young man had traversed the wilderness to Can- 
ada, and could tell us of his adventures with 
Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in 
the French villages. My uncle was ready with 
his record of hunting and fishing and, it must 
be confessed, with stories, which he at least half 
believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My 
mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted 
region of Somers worth. New Hampshire, be- 
tween Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the 
inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape 
of her ancestors. She described strange people 
who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, among 

k 





whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my 
possession the wizard's "conjuring book," which 
he solemnly opened when consLdted. It is a copy 
of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, 
dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael 
Scott, had learned 

the art of glammorie 
In Padua bejond the sea," 

and who is famous in the annals of Massachu- 
setts, where he was at one time a resident, as the 
man who dared petition the General Court first 
for liberty of conscience. The full title of the 
book is Three Books of Occult Philosophy , by 
Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of both 
Lazvs, Counsellor to Cresars Sacred Majesty afid 
Judge of the Prerogative Court. 

J. G. W. 





Winter Sunset, Whittier House . . frontispiece 

From a painting by John J . Enneking 

We looked upon a ^^'orld unknown . . . . 21 

From a Jruiving by Edmund H. Garrett 



The okl horse thrust his k)ng head out 



25 



From a dra-iving by Edmund H. Garrett 

The moon above the eastern a\ ood 29 

From a drait:ing by Edmund H. Garrett 

We sat the clean-^^•inged hearth about . . .33 

From a draiving bf Edmund H. Garrett 

We hear, like them, the hum of bees . . . . ^7 

From a draiving by Edmund H. Garrett 

Our Mother 40 

From a draiving by Edmund H. Garrett 

Beneath the gray No^'ember cloud 45 

From a draiving by Edmund H. Garrett 

Our uncle, innocent of books 49 

From a draiving by Hoivard Pyle 

A full, rich nature, free to trust 52 

From a draiving by Edmund H. Garrett 





I tread tlie pleasant paths we trod . 

From a draiving by Edmund H. Garrett 

Stretch green to June's unclouded sky 

From a photograph by H. W. Glcaion 

Born the A\'ild northern hills among 

From a photograph taken in the White Mountains 



A school-house plant on e\'erY hill 

From a photograph bx Samuel L. Bush 



Was ne\er safe from wrath's surprise . 

From a drawing by Edmund H. Garrett 

Since then 'what old cathedral to\\ n 

From a photograph of Chartres 

They softened to the sound of streams . 

From a draiv-ing by Edmund H. Garrett 

Low drooping pine-boughs a\ inter-weighed 

From a photograph by H. W. Gleason 

The wise old Doctor went his round 

From a drazving by Edmund H. Garrett 

The chill embargo of the ^now .... 

From a photograph by H. W. Gleason 



57 
61 
65 
69 
7i^ 
77 



89 



93 





"As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, 
so Good Spirits, a\ hich be Angels of Light, are aug- 
mented not only by the Divine light of the Sun, but also 
by our common V\'ood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire 
drives aw ay dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood 
doth the same." — Cor. Agrippa. Occult PhUoaopluj, 
Book I. ch. V. 

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arri\ es the sno\\ , and, dri\'ing o'er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight : the a\ hited air 
Hides liills and ^^■oods, the river and the heaven, 
And \ eils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacv of storm." 

Emerson. The Snow Storm. 




1 



-J 




THE sun that brief December day 
Rose cheerless over hills of gray, 
And, darkly circled, gave at noon 
A sadder light than waning moon. 
Slow tracing down the thickening sky 
Its mute and ominous prophecy, 
A portent seeming less than threat, 
It sank from sight before it set. 
A chill no coat, however stout. 
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, 
A hard, dull bitterness of cold, 




17 




That checked, mid- vein, the circhng race 
Of Hfe blood in the sharpened face, 
The coming of the snow-storm told. 
The wind blew east; we heard the roar 
Of Ocean on his wintry shore, 
And felt the strong pulse throbbing 

there 
Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 

MEANWHILE we did our nightly 
chores, — 
Brought in the wood from out of doors. 
Littered the stalls, and from the mows 
Raked down the herd's-grass for the 
cows : 




18 




Heard the horse whinnying for his 

corn ; 
And, sharply clashing horn on horn, 
Impatient down the stanchion rows 
The cattle shake their walnut bows ; 
While, peering from his early perch 
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch. 
The cock his crested helmet bent 
And down his queridous challenge 

sent. 



UNWARMED by any sunset light 
The gray day darkened into night, 
A night made hoary with the swarm 
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 



^5^ 1^ 



^ 







...mm 



19 




As zigzag, wavering to and fro, 
Crossed and recrossed the winged 

snow : 
And ere the early bedtime came 
The white drift piled the window-frame. 
And through the glass the clothes-line 

posts 
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 

SO all night long the storm roared on : 
The morning broke without a sun ; 
In tiny spherule traced with lines 
Of Nature's geometric signs, 
In starry flake, and pellicle. 
All day the hoary meteor fell ; 




20 




^->>^:a.;,. ft% ^^*'*^ 



We looked upon a world unknown 




And, when the second morning shone, 
We looked upon a world unknown, 
On nothing we could call our own. 
Around the glistening wonder bent 
The blue walls of the firmament. 
No cloud above, no earth below, — ■ 
A universe of sky and snow ! 
The old familiar sights of ours 
Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes 

and towers 
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood. 
Or garden- wall, or belt of wood ; 
A smooth white mound the brush-pile 

showed, 
A fenceless drift what once was road ; 




22 




The bridle-post an old man sat 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat ; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof, 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 



A PROMPT, decisive man, no breath 
Our father wasted : " Boys, a path ! " 
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy 
Count such a summons less than joy?) 
Our buskins on our feet we drew; 
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 
To guard our necks and ears from snow. 
We cut the solid whiteness through. 




23 




And, where the drift was deepest, made 
A tunnel walled and overlaid 
With dazzling crystal : we had read 
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, 
And to our own his name we gave, 
With many a wish the luck were ours 
To test his lamp's supernal powers. 
We reached the barn with merry din. 
And roused the prisoned brutes within. 
The old horse thrust his long head out. 
And grave with wonder gazed about; 
The cock his lusty greeting said, 
And forth his speckled harem led ; 
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, 
And mild reproach of hunger looked ; 




24 




The old horse thrust his Ions: head out 




The horned patriarch of the sheep, 
Like Eg3^pt's Amun roused from sleep, 
Shook his sage head with gesture mute, 
And emphasized with stamp of foot. 

ALL day the gusty north-wind bore 
The loosening drift its breath before ; 
Low circling round its southern zone, 
The sun through dazzling snow-mist 

shone. 
No church-bell lent its Christian tone 
To the savage air, no social smoke 
Curled over woods of snow-hung 

oak. 
A solitude made more intense 





26 




By dreary voiced elements. 

The shrieking of the mindless wind, 

The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind. 

And on the glass the unmeaning beat 

Of giiostly finger-tips of sleet. 

Beyond the circle of our heartli 

No welcome sound of toil or mirth 

Unbound the spell, and testified 

Of human life and thought outside. 

We minded that the sharpest ear 

The buried brooklet could not hear, 

Tiie music of whose liquid lip 

Had been to us companionship. 

And, in our lonel}^ life, had grown 

To have an almost human tone. 






As night drew on, and, from the 
crest 
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, 
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 
From sight beneath the smothering 

bank. 
We piled, with care, our nightly stack 
Of wood against the chimney-back, — 
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 
And on its top the stout back-stick; 
The knotty forestick laid apart, 
And filled between with curious art 
The ragged brush; then, hovering 

near. 
We watched the first red blaze appear, 




28 




The moon above the eastern wood 




Heard the sharp crackle, caught the 
gleam 

On whitewashed wall and sagging 
beam, 

Until the old, rude-furnished room 

Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom ; 

While radiant with a mimic flame 

Outside the sparkling drift became. 

And through the bare-boughed lilac- 
tree 

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing 
free. 

The crane and pendent trammels 
showed, 

The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed ; 




30 




While childish fancy, prompt to tell 
The meaning of the miracle, 
Whispered the old rhyme: ''Under the 

tree. 
When jire outdoors hums merrily. 
There the zvitches are making tea.'' 

THE moon above the eastern 
wood 
Shone at its ftdl ; the hill-range stood 
Transfigured in the silver flood, 
Its blown snows flashing cold and 

keen, 
Dead white, save where some sharp 
ravine 




31 




b^ 



Took shadow, or the sombre green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness at their back. 
For such a world and such a night 
Most fitting that unwarming light, 
Which only seemed where'er it fell 
To make the coldness visible. 

SHUT in from all the world without, 
We sat the clean-winged hearth about. 
Content to let the north-wind roar 
In baffled rage at pane and door. 
While the red logs before us beat 
The frost-line back with tropic heat; 
And ever, when a louder blast 




32 



I 




We sat the clean-wins:ed hearth about 




Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 
The merrier up its roaring draught 
The great throat of the chimney 

laughed ; 
The house-dog on his paws outspread 
Laid to the fire his drowsy head. 
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; 
And, for the winter fireside meet. 
Between the andirons' straddling feet. 
The mug of cider simmered slow, 
The apples sputtered in a row, 
And, close at hand, the basket stood 
With nuts from brown October's 

wood. 




34 



li 




WHAT matter how the night 
behaved ? 
What matter how the north-wind raved ? 
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy 

glow. 
O Time and Change! — with hair as 

gray 
As was my sire's that winter day, 
How strange it seems, with so much 

gone 
Of life and love, to still live on ! 
Ah, brother! only I and thou 
Are left of all that circle now, — 
The dear home faces whereupon 




35 




That fitful firelight paled and shone. 

Henceforward, listen as we will, 

The voices of that hearth are still ; 

Look where we may, the wide earth 
o'er. 

Those lighted faces smile no more. 

We tread the paths their feet have 
worn. 
We sit beneath their orchard trees. 
We hear, like them, the hum of 
bees, 

And rustle of the bladed corn ; 

We turn the pages that they read. 
Their written words we linger o'er. 

But in the sun they cast no shade. 




36 




We hear, like them, the hum of bees 




No voice is heard, no sign is made, 
No step is on the conscious floor ! 

Yet Love will dream, and Faith will 
trust, 

(Since He who knows our need is 
just,) 

That somehow, somewhere, meet we 
must. 

Alas for him who never sees 

The stars shine through his cypress- 
trees ! 

Who, hopeless, lays his dead away. 

Nor looks to see the breaking day 

Across the mournful marbles play! 

Who hath not learned, in hours of faith. 




38 




The truth to flesh and sense un- 
known, 
That Life is ever lord of Death, 
And Love can never lose its own ! 

WE sped the time with stories 
old. 
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told. 
Or stammered from our school-book 

lore 
"The Chief of Gambia's golden shore." 
How often since, when all the land 
Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand. 
As if a far-blown trumpet stirred 
The languorous sin-sick air, I heard : 




39 




Our Mother 




*'Does not the voice of reason cry. 

Claim the first right which Mature gave, 
From the red scourge of bondage fly, 

J^Tor deign to live a burdened slave!'' 
Our father rode again his ride 
On Meniphremagog's wooded side ; 
Sat down again to moose and samp 
In trapper's hut and Indian camp; 
Lived o'er the old idyUic ease 
Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; 
Again for him the moonlight shone 
On Norman cap and bodiced zone; 
Again he heard the violin play 
Which led the village dance away, 
And mingled in its merry whirl 




41 




The grandam and the laughing girl. 
Or, nearer home, our steps he led 
Where Salisbury's level marshes 
spread 

Mile- wide as flies the laden bee; 
Where merry mowers, hale and 

strong. 
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths 
along 

The low green prairies of the sea. 
We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, 

And round the rocky Isles of Shoals 

The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals ; 
The chowder on the sand-beach made. 
Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot. 




42 





With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. 
We heard the tales of witchcraft old. 
And dream and sigh and marvel told 
To sleepy listeners as they lay 
Stretched idly on the salted hay. 
Adrift along the winding shores, 
When favoring breezes deigned to blow 
The square sail of the gundelow 
And idle lay the useless oars. 

OUR mother while she turned her 
wheel 
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, 
Told how the Indian hordes came down 
At midnight on Cocheco town, 




45 




And how her own great-uncle bore 
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 
Recalling, in her fitting phrase, 
So rich and picturesque and free, 
(The common unrhymed poetry 
Of simple life and country ways,) 
The story of her early days, — 
She made us welcome to her home ; 
Old hearths grew wide to give us room ; 
We stole with her a frightened look 
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book. 
The fame whereof went far and wide 
Through all the simple country-side; 
We heard the hawks at twilight play. 
The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 




44 



^ 




Beneath the gray November cloud 




The loon's weird laughter far away; 
We fished her little trout-brook, knew 
What flowers in wood and meadow 

grew, 
What sunny hillsides autumn- brown 
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts 

down. 
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 
The ducks' black squadron anchored lay. 
And heard the wild-geese calling loud 
Beneath the gray November cloud. 

THEN, haply, with a look more 
grave. 
And soberer tone, some tale she gave 




1r6 




From painful SeweFs ancient tome, 
Beloved in every Quaker home, 
Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, 
Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint. 
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! — 
Who, when the dreary calms pre- 
vailed. 
And water-butt and bread-cask failed, 
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued 
His portly presence mad for food. 
With dark hints muttered under breath 
Of casting lots for life or death. 
Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies. 
To be himself the sacrifice. 
Then, suddenly, as if to save 




¥1 




The good man from his hving grave, 
A ripple on the water grew, 
A school of porpoise flashed in view. 
*'Take, eat," he said, "and be content; 
These fishes in my stead are sent 
By Him who gave the tangled ram 
To spare the child of Abraham." 

OUR uncle, innocent of books. 
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, 
The ancient teachers never dumb 
Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. 
In moons and tides and weather wise, 
He read the clouds as prophecies. 
And foul or fair could well divine. 




48 




Our uncle, innocent of books 




By many an occult hint and sign, 

Holding the cunning-warded keys 

To all the woodcraft mysteries; 

Himself to Nature's heart so near 

That all her voices in his ear 

Of beast or bird had meanings clear, 

Like Apollonius of old. 

Who knew the tales the sparrows told. 

Or Hermes who interpreted 

What the sage cranes of Nilus said ; 

A simple, guileless, childlike man. 

Content to live where life began ; 

Strong only on his native grounds. 

The little world of sights and sounds 

Whose girdle was the parish bounds, 




50 




Whereof his fondly partial pride 
The common features magnified, 
As Surrey hills to mountains grew 
In White of Selborne's loving view, — 
He told how teal and loon he shot. 
And how the eagle's eggs he got. 
The feats on pond and river done. 
The prodigies of rod and gun ; 
Till, warming with the tales he told, 
Forgotten was the outside cold, 
The bitter wind unheeded blew, 
From ripening corn the pigeons flew. 
The partridge drummed i' the wood, the 

mink 
Went fishing down the river-brink. 




51 




A full, rich nature, free to trust 





In fields with bean or clover gay, 
The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, 

Peered from the doorway of his cell ; 
The muskrat plied the mason's trade, 
And tier by tier his mud- walls laid ; 
And from the shagbark overhead 

The grizzled squirrel dropped his 
shell. 

NEXT, the dear aunt, whose smile 
of cheer 
And voice in dreams I see and hear, — 
The sweetest woman ever Fate 
Perverse denied a household mate. 
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 




55 




Found peace in love's unselfishness, 
And welcome wheresoe'er she went, 
A calm and gracious element, 
Whose presence seemed the sweet in- 
come 
And womanly atmosphere of home, — 
Called up her girlhood memories, 
The huskings and the apple-bees. 
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, 
Weaving through all the poor details 
And homespun warp of circumstance 
A golden woof-thread of romance. 
For well she kept her genial mood 
And simple faith of maidenhood ; 
Before her still a cloud-land lay, 




54 




The mirage loomed across her way; 
The morning-dew, that dries so soon 
With others, ghstened at her noon ; 
Through years of toil and soil and 

care. 
From glossy tress to thin gray hair, 
All Linprofaned she held apart 
The virgin fancies of the heart. 
Be shame to him of woman born 
Who hath for such but thought of scorn. 

THERE, too, our elder sister plied 
Her evening task the stand beside ; 
A full, rich nature, free to trust. 
Truthful and almost sternly just. 




55 




Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act. 
And make her generous thought a fact, 
Keeping with many a hght disguise 
The secret of self-sacrifice. 
O heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best 
That heaven itself could give thee, — 

rest, 
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! 
How many a poor one's blessing went 
With thee beneath the low green tent 
Whose curtain never outward swings ! 



A 



S one who held herself a part 
Of all she saw, and let her heart 
Against the household bosom lean. 




56 










I tread the pleasant paths we trod 




Upon the motley-braided mat 
Our youngest and our dearest sat. 
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes. 

Now bathed in the unfading green 
And holy peace of Paradise. 
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 

Or from the shade of saintly palms, 

Or silver reach of river calms. 
Do those large eyes behold me still? 
With me one little year ago : — 
The chill weio-ht of the winter snow 

For months upon her grave has lain; 
And now, when summer south-winds 
blow 

And brier and harebell bloom again, 




58 




I tread the pleasant paths we trod, 
I see the violet-sprinkled sod 
Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak 
The hillside flowers she loved to seek, 
Yet following me where'er I went 
With dark eyes full of love's content. 
The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills 
The air with sweetness; all the hills 
Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; 
But still I wait with ear and e3^e 
For something gone which should be 

nigh, 
A loss in all familiar things, 
In flower that blooms, and bird that 

sings. 





And yet, dear heart ! remembering 
thee, 
Am I not richer than of old ? 
Safe in thy immortahty, 

What change can reach the wealth I 

hold ? 
What chance can mar the pearl and 
gold 
Thy love hath left in trust with me ? 
And while in life's late afternoon, 
Where cool and long the shadows 
grow, 
I walk to meet the night that soon 

Shall shape and shadow overflow, 
I cannot feel that thou art far. 




. 


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60 




Stretch green to June's unclouded sky 




Since near at need the angels are; 
And when the sunset gates unbar, 

Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 
And, white against the evening star. 

The welcome of thy beckoning hand ? 

BRISK wielder of the birch and rule, 
The master of the district school 
Held at the fire his favored place. 
Its warm glow lit a laughing face 
Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce ap- 
peared 
The uncertain prophecy of beard. 
He teased the mitten-blinded cat, 
Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat. 




62 




Sang songs, and told us what befalls 
In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 
Born the wild Northern hills among, 
From whence his yeoman father wrung 
By patient toil subsistence scant, 
Not competence and yet not want, 
He early gained the power to pay 
His cheerful, self-reliant way ; 
Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 
To peddle wares from town to town ; 
Or through the long vacation's reach 
In lonely lowland districts teach. 
Where all the droll experience found 
At stranger hearths in boarding round. 
The moonlit skater's keen delight, 





The sleigh-drive through the frosty 

night, 
The rustic party, with its rough 
Accompaniment of bhnd-man's-bufF, 
And whirhng plate, and forfeits paid. 
His winter task a pastime made. 
Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 
He tuned his merry violin, 
Or played the athlete in the barn. 
Or held the good dame's winding-yarn. 
Or mirth-provoking versions told 
Of classic legends rare and old, 
Wherein the scenes of Greece and 

Rome 
Had all the commonplace of home. 




64 




Born the wild northern hills among 




And little seemed at best the odds 
'Twixt Yankee peddlers and old gods ; 
Where Pindus-born Arachthus took 
The guise of any grist-mill brook. 
And dread Olympus at his will 
Became a huckleberry hill. 

A CARELESS boy that night he 
seemed ; 
But at his desk he had the look 
And air of one who wisely schemed. 
And hostage from the future took 
In trained thought and lore of book. 
Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as 
he 




66 




Shall Freedom's young apostles be, 
Who, following in War's bloody trail, 
Shall every lingering wrong assail; 
All chains from limb and spirit strike, 
Uplift the black and white alike; 
Scatter before their swift advance 
The darkness and the ignorance, 
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth. 
Which nurtured Treason's monstrous 

growth. 
Made murder pastime, and the hell 
Of prison torture possible ; 
The cruel lie of caste refute, 
Old forms remould, and substitute 
For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, 




67 




For blind routine, wise-handed skill ; 
A school-house plant on every hill, 
Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 
The quick wires of intelligence ; 
Till North and South together brought 
Shall own the same electric thought, 
In peace a common flag salute, 
And, side by side in labor's free 
And unresentful rivalry. 
Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 

ANOTHER guest that winter 
night 
Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. 
Unmarked by time, and yet not young, 




68 



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A school-house plant on every hill 




The honeyed music of her tongue 
And words of meekness scarcely told 
A nature passionate and bold, 
Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, 
Its milder features dwarfed beside 
Her unbent will's majestic pride. 
She sat among us, at the best, 
A not un feared, half- welcome guest. 
Rebuking with her cultured phrase 
Our homeliness of words and ways. 
A certain pard-like, treacherous grace 
Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped 

the lash. 
Lent the white teeth their dazzling 

flash; 




70 



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And under low brows, black with night, 
Rayed out at times a dangerous light ; 
The sharp heat-lightnings of her face 
Presaging ill to him whom Fate 
Condemned to share her love or hate. 
A woman tropical, intense 
In thought and act, in soul and sense, 
She blended in a like degree 
The vixen and the devotee, 
Revealing with each freak or feint 
The temper of Petruchio's Kate, 
The raptures of Siena's saint. 
Her tapering hand and rounded wrist 
Had facile power to form a fist ; 
The warm, dark languish of her eyes 




71 




Was never safe from wrath's surprise. 
Brows saintly calm and lips devout 
Knew ever}^ change of scowl and pout; 
And the sweet voice had notes more 

high 
And shrill for social battle-cry. 

SINCE then w^hat old cathedral 
town 
Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, 
What convent-gate has held its lock 
Against the challenge of her knock ! 
Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thor- 
oughfares, 
Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, 




72 




Was never safe from wrath's surprise 




Gray olive slopes of hills that hem 
Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, 
Or startling on her desert throne 
The crazy Queen of Lebanon 
With claims fantastic as her own. 
Her tireless feet have held their way ; 
And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray. 
She watches under Eastern skies. 

With hope each day renewed and fresh. 
The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, 
Whereof she dreams and prophesies ! 



WHERE'ER her troubled path 
may be 
The Lord's sweet pity with her go ! 




74 




The outward wayward life we see, 
The hidden springs we may not 
know. 
Nor is it given us to discern 
What threads the fatal sisters 

spun, 
Through what ancestral years has 
run 
The sorrow with the woman born, 
What forged her cruel chain of 

moods. 
What set her feet in solitudes. 

And held the love within her mute, 
What mingled madness in the blood, 
A life-long discord and annoy. 




75 




Water of tears with oil of joy, 
And hid within the folded bud 

Perversities of flower and fruit. 
It is not ours to separate 

The tangled skein of will and fate, 
To show what metes and bounds should 

stand 
Upon the soul's debatable land, 
And between choice and Providence 
Divide the circle of events ; 
But He who knows our frame is just. 
Merciful and compassionate. 
And full of sweet assurances 
And hope for all the language is. 
That He remembereth we are dust ! 




76 




Since then what old cathedral town 




AT last the great logs, crumbling 
low, 
Sent out a dull and duller glow, 
The bull's-eye watch that hung in 

view. 
Ticking its weary circuit through. 
Pointed with mutely warning sign 
Its black hand to the hour of nine. 
That sign the pleasant circle broke : 
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke. 
Knocked from its bowl the refuse 

gray, 
And laid it tenderly away ; 
Then roused himself to safely cover 
The dull red brands with ashes over. 







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78 




And while, with care, our mother laid 
The work aside, her steps she stayed 
One moment, seeking to express 
Her grateful sense of happiness 
For food and shelter, warmth and 

health, 
And love's contentment more than 

wealth, 
With simple wishes (not the weak 
Vain prayers which no fulfilment 

seek. 
But such as warm the generous 

heart, 
O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its 

part ) 




79 




That none might lack, that bitter night, 
For bread and clothing, warmth and 
hght. 

WITHIN our beds awhile we 
heard 
The wind that round the gables 

roared 
With now and then a ruder shock, 
Which made our very bedsteads 

rock. 
We heard the loosened clapboards 

tost. 
The board-nails snapping in the 

frost ; 




80 




They softened to the sound of streams 




And on us, through the unplastered 

wall, 
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. 
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do 
When hearts are light and life is 

new ; 
Faint and more faint the murmurs 

grew, 
Till in the summer-land of dreams 
They softened to the sound of streams. 
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars. 
And lapsing waves on quiet shores. 



N 



EXT morn we wakened with the 
shout 




82 




Of merry voices high and clear ; 
And saw the teamsters drawing near 
To break the drifted highways out. 
Down the long hillside treading slow 
We saw the half-buried oxen go, 
Shaking the snow^ from heads up- 
tost, 
Their straining nostrils white with 

frost. 
Before our door the straggling train 
Drew up, an added team to gain. 
The elders threshed their hands a- 
cold. 
Passed, with the cider-mug, their 
jokes 




83 




From lip to lip ; the younger folks 

Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, 
rolled, 

Then toiled again the cavalcade 
O'er windy hill, through clogged 

ravine. 
And woodland paths that wound be- 
tween 

Low drooping pine-boughs winter- 
weighed. 

From every barn a team afoot. 

At every house a new recruit. 

Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest 
law, 

Haply the watchful young men saw 




84 







Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed 




Sweet doorway pictures of the curls 
And curious eyes of merry girls, 
Lifting their hands in mock defence 
Against the snow-ball's compliments, 
And reading in each missive tost 
The charm with Eden never lost. 



WE heard once more the sleigh-bells' 
sound ; 
And, following where the teamsters . 
led. 
The wise old Doctor went his round. 
Just pausing at our door to say. 
In the brief autocratic way 
Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, 




86 




Was free to urge her claim on all, 
That some poor neighbor sick 
abed 
At night our mother's aid would 

need. 
For, one in generous thought and 
deed. 
What mattered in the sufierer's 

sight 
The Quaker matron's inward light, 
The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed ? 
All hearts confess the saints elect 

Who, twain in faith, in love agree, 
And melt not in an acid sect 
The Christian pearl of charity ! 




87 




So days went on : a week had 
passed 
Since the great world was heard from 

last. 
The Almanac we studied o'er, 
Read and re-read our little store 
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a 

score ; 
One harmless novel, mostly hid 
From younger eyes, a book forbid, 
And poetry, (or good or bad, 
A single book was all we had,) 
Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted 

Muse, 
A stranger to the heathen Nine, 




88 



Mm'/': 




The wise old Doctor went his round 




Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine. 
The wars of David and the Jews. 
At last the floundering carrier bore 
The village paper to our door. 
Lo ! broadening outward as we read. 
To warmer zones the horizon spread ; 
In panoramic length unrolled 
We saw the marvels that it told. 
Before us passed the painted Creeks, 
And daft McGregor on his raids 
In Costa Rica's everglades. 
And up Taygetos winding slow 
Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, 
A Turk's head at each saddle-bow ! 
Welcome to us its week-old news. 




90 



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Its corner for the rustic Muse, 
Its monthly gauge of snow and 

rain, 
Its record, minghng in a breath 
The wedding bell and dirge of 

death ; 
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, 
The latest culprit sent to jail ; 
Its hue and cry of stolen and lost. 
Its vendue sales and goods at cost, 
And traffic calling loud for gain. 
We felt the stir of hall and street. 
The pulse of life that round us beat; 
The chill embargo of the snow 
Was melted in the genial glow ; 




91 




Wide swung again our ice-locked door, 
And all the world was ours once more ! 

CLASP, Angel of the backward look 
And folded wings of ashen gray 

And voice of echoes far away, 
The brazen covers of thy book ; 
The weird palimpsest old and vast, 
Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; 
Where, closely mingling, pale and glow 
The characters of joy and woe ; 
The monographs of outlived years. 
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, 

Green hills of life that slope to death. 
And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees 




92 




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The chill embarsro of the snow 




Shade off to mournful cypresses 

With the white amaranths under- 
neath. 
Even while I look, I can but heed 

The restless sands' incessant fall, 
Importunate hours that hours succeed, 
Each clamorous with its own sharp 
need. 
And duty keeping pace with all. 
Shut down and clasp the heavy lids ; 
I hear again the voice that bids 
The dreamer leave his dream midway 
For larger hopes and graver fears : 
Life greatens in these later years. 
The century's aloe flowers to-da}^ ! 



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94 




YET, haply, in some lull of 
life. 
Some Truce of God which breaks 

its strife. 
The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, 

Dreaming in throngful city ways 
Of winter joys his boyhood knew ; 
And dear and early friends — the few 
Who yet remain — shall pause to view 
These Flemish pictures of old days ; 
Sit with me by the homestead hearth. 
And stretch the hands of memory 
forth 
To warm them at the wood-fire's 
blaze ! 




95 




And thanks untraced to lips unknown 
Shall greet me like the odors blown 
From unseen meadows newly mown. 
Or lilies floating in some pond, 
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; 
The traveller owns the grateful sense 
Of sweetness near, he knows not 

whence. 
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare 
The benediction of the air. 




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